


The human heart has hidden treasures

by vulpineblue



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gilbert has it bad, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, mentions of minor character death, these two honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 11:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15629865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpineblue/pseuds/vulpineblue
Summary: Avonlea is blanketed in snow, Marilla is distracted and Gilbert has gone for a solitary walk. Eventually Anne figures out what that means, and is beholden to do something.





	The human heart has hidden treasures

Marilla had been awfully distracted all morning and Anne was beginning to seriously worry that she was having another one of her dreadful headaches. She crept to the kitchen as quietly as she could, hoping not to exacerbate any pain her dear Marilla was experiencing.

“Marilla, I can finish the household chores for today and I’ll be as quite as a church mouse! If you want-“

“Oh for heaven’s sake Anne! I have told you I am perfectly well.”

“Its just that you don’t seem your usual exuberant self.”

The weathered lines of Marilla’s face seemed to soften as she looked over at Anne.

“Now, I don’t know how you can describe me as exuberant Anne Shirely Cuthbert. But, I promise you child I am quite well. I do however want your help with some extra chores today.”

The extra chores turned out to be nothing more complicated than some additional baking and finding some surplus jars of preserves in the cellar.

“Now,” Marilla begun, as she placed the last crock in a basket, “I want you to put on your boots and take this over to the Blythe-Lacroix homestead. I think they could do with the extra help, especially with Mary pregnant and…” Marilla trailed off, distracted again by what ever thoughts that seemed to have been plaguing her all day.Anne chewed her bottom lip, worried but feeling sure that if she were to ask about her health again Marilla would get very cross indeed. The red-head reassured herself that Matthew had not looked concerned this morning before he waded out into the snow to get to the barn. Anne reached out and touched Marilla’s hand where it rested on top of the full basket.

“I’ll take it over Marilla, I’m sure they’ll all be tremendously pleased. I know when Mrs. Hammond was so late in her pregnancy she could scarce move, though she was so prone to twins.”

Marilla grasped Anne’s hand where it rested on hers, it was like a little shard pierced her when she was reminded of how many burdens her charge had been forced to carry. On a day when so much gloominess threatened to encroach on her mind it was a far more potent sting.

“Thank you, Anne. Mind you put on your warmest coat and wrap that scarf up tight. I don’t want you gone too long.” “

I’ll be back as soon as I can Marilla, though I can’t pretend I won’t be sorely tempted to linger and take in the majesty of all the trees wearing their white winter cloaks!”

 

Anne made it to the Lacroix-Blythe homestead in good time, stopping only for a moment or so to admire the magical nature of the soft winter light illuminating the landscape of Avonlea. As she approached the door Anne resolutely ignored the feeling in her stomach that felt as if a hundred butterflies had suddenly taken wing from their perch. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was probably about to come face-to-face with Gilbert Blythe for the first time in several days. Though, the red-head could not resist the urge to tug on her braids, still not yet fully grown out but long enough now to be unruly once again.

 _Why,_ Anne thought, _why must I be accursed with this hair!_

She sighed in her most dramatic fashion, pushing the thoughts aside as she climbed the short steps to the porch. It was Marry who answered the door when Anne finally knocked, turning all the fluttery butterflies inside her still once again.

“Anne! It’s nice to see you, but what are you doing here?” Mary ushered Anne inside to the warmth quickly.

“Marilla asked me to bring you all a basket, with some provisions to fortify you.” Anne beamed at Mary, who looked uncomfortably large about the middle now. Anne thought she looked as if she was carrying a girl but had not shared her thoughts with anyone besides Dianna.

Marry smiled at Anne, wondering how she had come to find such good friends in this part of Avonlea. Mary like Anne, it was hard not too really for she had been given such glowing reports from Bash and Gilbert _of course_. But Mary liked the girl for own sake too, she liked her because she could tell she had known hard work. Truly hard work, not just the kind that exhausted your body but the kind that exhausted your soul too. And yet she had not let it dampen her spirit or her heart, Mary could not help but find that kind of grit and resilience charming.

“Anne, that is so kind of you and Marilla, I don’t even know what to say.” Anne smiled, pleased to make such a bosom friend so happy.

“You should sit down, and rest. I’ll put some tea on shall I?”

“Please,” Mary said lowering herself into a chair and silently cursing Sebastian Lacroix for getting her into this state. Anne busied herself with the business of making tea, furtively looking around to see where the other residents of the home may be. She could hear wood being chopped outside somewhere, maybe that was…

 _Stop it!_ Anne cursed herself silently, _you have far better things to occupy your mind with Anne Shirely-Cuthbert_. But it was too late, the inquisitive nature of her mind and the impulsive nature of her mouth had been set long ago. The words were already leaving her mouth:

“Where is Gilbert” and she hurried to add “and Bash?” It was then that Anne learned Mary had the same sort of knowing look as her husband.

“Sebastian is outside chopping wood, and probably cursing about the cold while he is at it.” Mary smiled a fond smile at that and took an appreciative sip of tea. “Gilbert said he was going out for a walk awhile ago now, but he had a far off look in his eye and I thought best to leave him be.”

“Oh,” was all Anne had to contribute after that, for she had just remembered the last time she had been in this house at this time of year. Just like that the puzzle pieces had arranged themselves in her head. She sprang onto her feet suddenly, startling Mary. “Well, I do hope you enjoy those scrumptious delights in the basket, and I will leave the rest of the tea for Bash to thaw out with. I promised Marilla I would be back soon, I think she has a tremendously large chore list for me today so I best be off. No, no don’t get up I’ll see myself out! I’ll see you soon!”

With that Anne raced out the door, much as she had done on a previous occasion, leaving a frankly baffled Mary in her wake.

“Those two kids honestly,” Mary shook her head.

 

Anne could not quite explain to herself why it was so imperative that she found Gilbert, only that she could not stand the image she had conjured in her head at that moment. Gilbert sat alone, with nought but his own grief to keep him company, a dark stormy cloud above his head and a cold wind whistling in his heart. Anne could also not explain how she came to the notion of going to the graveyard, whether she had thought it through logically or whether it was merely where her feet pulled her. Either way, once she arrived there it was clear she had made the correct choice.

Gilbert sat staring at his father’s grave almost like how she had imagined it. Though even her own excellent imagination could not conjure up the tumult of emotions on his face, or the way his hands gripped his knees as if it was his own life line keeping him afloat. Suddenly she felt like some dreadful voyeur, he looked vulnerable in a way he had never seemed to her before. It had not occurred to Anne, until that very moment, that Gilbert may wish more for privacy than comfort. After all, it had not gone so well last time she had attempted to balm his grief with words. But looking at him sat there, powdery snow clinging to his dark curls, Anne thought of what Ruby had said. Did he look more handsome now that he was sad? Anne did not think so, it wounded her to see him so upset and so alone. She thought of the times she had huddled into herself an ache deep inside herself, for a thing and people she had never known. Had she not thought the pain would rend her apart? For reasons Anne would not investigate until years later, she simply could not bare the idea of leaving him alone like that.

Anne made her way to the bench where he sat softly. It seemed it was one of the very rare occasions in her life that she could not think of a thing to say, so she simply sat a little apart from him on the cold stone bench. Anne saw his face turn towards her and saw upon it a look of confusion. She looked back at him and hoped to convey to him that she was not here to interrupt his grieving. His face softened for a moment and then he turned back to his father’s grave with no words passed between them, but seemingly an awful lot of understanding.

When Gilbert finally spoke the shadows on the floor had grown long enough that Anne knew Marilla was going to have words with her when she got back:

“Thank you Anne.” The voice did not belong to the confident boy Anne knew from school. It was the voice of a young man world weary. It seemed it spoke to the young woman inside of Anne, who had experienced her own share of sorrows and trials. Her heart did a queer thing in her chest she could not quite explain when she looked into his solemn eyes.

“Your father was a good man, he was so kind to me when we met. I am sure you must miss him greatly. But,” at this she hesitated, the next words seemed so dreadfully dangerous for some reason. The look in Gilbert’s eyes, part hopeful part curious, made her reckless as they often did. “But I’m sure he would be so proud of you. Traveling the world and coming home with new friends, finding your vocation and striving towards it. He seemed like a man who would appreciate all that bravery.”

A slow and small smile unfurled onto his face at that, like the first buds of spring. Small, but holding the shade of a promise of the delightful blooms of summer. “You think I’m brave Anne?” A little more of that cocky schoolboy seemed to have creeped back.

“Well I, I think. That is to say…” Anne was floundering horribly, feeling the heat rise in her face.

Gilbert, desperate not to ruin the moment of calm serenity she had brought him on such a dark day interrupted: “He would have been happy that I travelled some before I came to rest back here in Avonlea. He was a wandering spirit my father.” He smiled at her as they begun to make their way together, “but he loved Avonlea too. There is something magical about this place that just draws you back, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do. It is fantastically mesmerising, I thought so the first time I laid eyes on this wonderous landscape.” Gilbert smiled at Anne’s exuberance. He thought, he would hoard away in his mind the treasure of that moment. She had arrived like a brilliant sunrise in the midst of a dark night, all warm amber light. Her quiet companionship had eased his mind, and now her radiance thawed him out. How could she turn a day of grief into an afternoon of warm fellowship? It was simply Anne, he thought and fixed in his mind the way she looked in that moment for future winter days.“Perhaps it really is a magical island? Like in the pantomime? Maybe there is a magical tree hidden somewhere in the forest, if only we were intrepid enough to discover it?”

“Maybe it is better to leave hidden away for a little while? Maybe the tree is not yet ready to be found?” Anne had no idea why those words caused a blush to rise to her cheeks, only that there was something in Gilbert’s eyes that warmed her blood. “Do you want to talk about your father some Gilbert?”

And he did, he shared stories with her that he had not spoke of since his fathers passing. Tales of his favourite poetry and cities, for he knew Anne would love that, but also the smaller stories. How his father used to butter his toast, or the way he taught him to resew buttons. Those seemed like such silly stories, but they felt precious too. The way Anne smiled at them made them seem like tiny treasures, something intimate and special. It felt good to talk about such things, it helped chase away the dark memories of his fathers ailing body. He wondered if he would ever be able to truly express his gratitude to Anne.

When they reached the part of the path that led them separate ways, Gilbert offered to walk Anne the rest of the way. But quite typically she refused, most resolutely.

“I had better hurry along, Marilla sent me with a basket for you and Mary and Bash and she will be fierce mad I’ve taken so long to get back.” Gilbert stopped and looked at Anne.

“Marilla sent you?”

“Yes, we baked some things for you this morning and pulled some preserves from the cellar. She thought the help might be needed, with Mary being so far along now. But she had seemed a little out of sorts this morning and I best be back to help her with dinner.”

Gilbert thought of how their must be something at Green Gables that made all the occupants so kind. “Tell her thank you for me then, and that I hope she is feeling better soon.” Anne smiled at that, “make sure you tell her that I’m very grateful and that I hope she is well, ok?”

“I’ll tell her Gilbert. Take care.”

It was its own small grief to watch her walk away from him, so he closed his eyes and conjured all of the good memories he had just awoken. His father’s laugh, and sure grip as he taught him how to handle an axe. And Anne, a warm companion by his side, her face lit up with wonder and the dusting of freckles across her face. He smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic in a long time and my first in the Anne With an E fanodm. Here is to hoping for season 3!  
> Thank you for taking the time to read this, I do hope you enjoyed it. I love AWAE so much, this idea sprung into my head and wouldn't leave me alone.  
> I figured it was only right to continue with the Bronte naming theme.


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